


Into the Labyrinth

by MaximillianDelirium



Category: Keroro Gunsou | Sgt. Frog
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Fantasy AU, Gijinkas, Humanizations, M/M, weirdest au i've ever written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:52:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaximillianDelirium/pseuds/MaximillianDelirium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ON HIATUS<br/>"It had been ages since they'd fed the labyrinth. Not just anyone was given over to the dark. The labyrinth was reserved for only the very worst criminals: murderers, cannibals, mad men. And sorcerers. You didn't get many sorcerers these days."</p><p>Having been imprisoned in a subterranean maze for sorcery, Putata finds a friendly voice in the darkness. But that's just the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

_**Part 1: The Descent** _

 

 

 

It had been ages since they'd fed the labyrinth. Not just anyone was given over to the dark. The labyrinth was reserved for only the very worst criminals: murderers, cannibals, mad men. And sorcerers. You didn't get many sorcerers these days. 

 

It had been so long that the villagers had nearly forgotten the labyrinth existed. The entrance was still there, cracked and mossy with age. The path was untended and treacherous. Any grass that grew around it came up yellow and dry. The whole world saw it as a place of death. 

 

Dawn came. The villagers roused themselves with a shudder. After years of peace, someone had broken the quiet. Someone would finally be turned over to the labyrinth. Not just have a hand cut off, not just be hanged or beaten, but _consumed._

 

The criminal in question was a painter once. He had no family, no name, no past. Once, the villagers had seen him as a harmless novelty. He was friendly with the children. He had a pet hound that followed him everywhere. But even the most beautiful roses have their thorns. 

 

When they took him from the cart, there was a ripple of remorse for his youth. The villagers remembered when he had done nothing but smile. The painter was pulled from the cart like a rag doll and thrown on the ground, where he didn't move. He just lay with his face in the dirt, arms splayed. 

 

“This man has been found guilty of sorcery,” the bailiff announced. His voice echoed in the dawn silence. The villagers blew on their fingers. It was cold. “He shall be given over to the darkness for his sins.” The bailiff toed the painter with his boot. “Any last words?”

 

Slowly, the painter raised his head. His mismatched eyes scanned the crowd. He got to his knees and rocked back on his heels. He stared at the ground for a while, then he lifted his chin and said, in a voice that trembled noticeably, “I have no regrets.” 

 

There were murmurs. No one would have ever suspected the true measure of the man's wickedness. The bailiff grabbed his arm and dragged him to the entrance of the labyrinth. If the air outside was cold, the breath of the maze was even colder. The painter shivered. For a moment, he was framed within the mouth of the cave, so very small in comparison. And then the bailiff let go. The painter tumbled into the black without a cry. Everyone waited, breath held. Nothing happened. 

 

Slowly, the crowd broke and the villagers returned to their daily lives, relieved to be rid of such a terrible man. There were some who muttered about how kind he had been, that perhaps there had been a mistake. But there was nothing doing now. He was at the mercy of the labyrinth. 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Putata lay at the bottom of a steep, slick slope, his mouth filled with sand. He sat up, spitting and wiping his face. His knees were already black with whatever foul slime coated the way down. The air in the maze was icy and smelled, predictably, of death. Not rotting, but stale and unmoving. Putata coughed. 

 

Last night, he'd sobbed his heart out. He'd even prayed to the gods. Now that he was in the labyrinth, he wasn't sure what to do with himself. He knew that people were devoured by whatever lived in the maze, or they went mad, or died of thirst or any number of things. Perhaps some of them wandered into ravines. Putata didn't like to wait for anything, especially not death. If he was going to die, he was going to walk right into it, head held high. 

 

Even though he considered himself brave, Putata found it hard to go into the dark. He couldn't see anything. His hand was a vague shadow in front of him. He pawed for a wall, for anything. His foot struck something. What felt like a bone crunched beneath his boot. 

 

_Is this what it's like to be blind?_ Putata's hand found the wall. It was smooth, worn down by many hands before his. Countless convicts. Endless victims. He had heard that the ancients constructed the maze to be unsolvable. There was no exit, save for the one that lay about thirty feet above his head. His throat constricted.

 

The floor seemed to be lightly covered with sand, judging by the sound his footsteps made. It was so cold. Putata was wearing what he had worn last week, when they'd come for him in the middle of the night. He counted himself lucky that they hadn't been pulled from his bed. He wished he'd had the foresight to wear a cloak. His teeth were chattering. Was it possible that some of the victims had frozen to death?

 

He heard a scuttling noise. Putata stopped. There were so many stories about the labyrinth that included monsters. Putata swallowed. Because no one had ever seen them, no one could ever describe them, but the general assumption was that they were eldritch abominations. Putata had visions of tentacles and jaws and claws and red eyes. His knees felt weak. It was one thing to embrace death in the labyrinth. It was another to let yourself be eaten. 

 

Putata knelt, running his hand along the ground in search of a weapon. He was hoping to find a heavy rock. _I'm not dying without putting up a fight._ His hand closed around something thin. Putata tested the end with his finger. It was sharp. Couldn't be a weapon. They confiscated all of your weapons before you went to prison. 

 

The scuttling stopped. Putata froze. Then he heard footsteps. His grip tightened on the make shift weapon. He rose to his feet, straining to hear how close the steps were. It was hard to tell. The tunnels twisted the sound every which way. Putata turned his head this way and that in an attempt to pinpoint the source. 

 

Just like that, the noise stopped. Putata held his breath. When it didn't return, he let it out. Whatever it was, it had left him alone. He took a few tentative steps forward. 

 

“Not that way. It's a dead end.” 

 

Putata spun around. The voice had been very...human. And masculine. A trickle of cold sweat ran down his back. “Who's there?” he rasped. His voice echoed slightly. 

 

“I'm behind you.” 

 

Putata turned again, his heart hammering in his chest. He couldn't make out a thing. It was possible he was already going mad. They said that you heard strange things in the maze. Screams and that sort of thing. But this sounded like a real voice, close by and echoing. “Who are you? Are you a spirit?” 

 

“No.” The voice seemed displeased. “I'm nobody.”

 

“Come where I can see you.” 

 

“You can't see me. Your eyes aren't made for darkness.” 

 

Putata swallowed. His throat was dry as a desert. He tried to laugh. It only made him feel slightly better. “I'm hearing voices. It's only been five minutes and I'm going insane.” 

 

“I'm not from your mind,” the voice replied. “I don't think you're insane yet. The others cried and gibbered a lot more. You're still forming sentences.” 

 

Putata paused. “Others? Other criminals?”

 

“I don't know about that. There were people here if that's what you're asking.”

 

He hesitated. If this voice wasn't a product of his imagination, that meant someone had survived the labyrinth, which was impossible. No one, no matter how strong or powerful they had been, ever survived the labyrinth. There was no water, no food. The darkness was said to drive you mad, until the monsters in your mind hunted you down. Or the real ones did. 

 

“How long have you been here?” Putata asked. 

 

“I've lost count.” There was a scuffling as the owner of the voice moved. “It's been a long time since someone from outside came here. The last one died...” The voice trailed off. 

 

“The last person to be thrown into the labyrinth was a woman who murdered her sister,” Putata said, digging through his magpie-nest mind for the bits and pieces of stories he'd heard during his time in the village. “That would be about ten years ago.” 

 

“Oh. She was always calling someone's name and crying. I had no idea. I tried to help her, but she had been here too long.” The voice sounded sad. “There's water and food here, if you know how to find it. But no one ever does.” He sighed. “I've tried to help, whenever there's someone new. It's lonely down here.” 

 

Putata could only imagine what it must be like to spend years in the darkness. He'd been in only a few minutes and he wanted to scream and claw his way back to the surface. No wonder so many went mad. It suffocated you. 

 

“When were you taken here?” he asked. 

 

“I've always been here.” 

 

This gave Putata pause. Was it possible for a child to be born into the labyrinth? If a pregnant woman was thrown in, yes...but the chances of survival for a baby were slim. He had heard of children given this sentence. Maybe the voice was one of those. It didn't sound promising. Anyone who'd been in the darkness that long was probably insane. 

 

“Why are you here?” the voice asked. “What did you do?” 

 

Putata wondered if the voice would even understand. He'd probably never seen a drawing before in his life. To keep it simple, he said, “I'm a sorcerer.” 

 

“I don't understand. How is that a crime?” 

 

Putata shrugged, remembered that it was pitch black and said, “Magic is wrong. It's evil. I tried to hide it, not to use it. But it wants to be used. That's why I'm here.” 

 

“The outside is a strange place. They condemn you for something you can't control, something that you are. You can't change yourself anymore than time can stop passing.”

 

When put like that, Putata felt even more wronged than before. His chest felt hollow. “Some people are born bad. Some people are born monsters.” 

 

The voice went quiet. It was silent so long that Putata thought it had moved on. But soon it was back. “I'm sure. There have been a lot of monsters put down here. If it's worth anything, you don't seem like one.” 

 

Putata smiled. His face felt sore and disused. “That's kind of you.” 

 

“I don't think you deserve to be here.” 

 

“Probably not, but there's nothing I can do to change that now.” The smile slipped. He would never see the sky again. He would never paint again. The hollowness in his chest spread. “I'd hoped that things would be different for me, that I could live peacefully. I guess it's over now. Up there, I said I didn't have any regrets. And I don't.” 

 

The voice whispered, “What was your magic like?” 

 

“I brought things to life.” 

 

“Can you do it now?” 

 

Putata shook his head. “It's too dark. I need to draw a picture of what I want to bring to life. If there was a light...” 

 

“There's no light down here,” the voice said sadly. It sounded so desolate that Putata's heart ached for it. “There is a spring, though. You need water. I can lead you to it.” 

 

The thought of water lifted Putata's spirits. “You would?” 

 

“I told you I was lonely. I would hate for you to die. Follow the sound of my voice.” Putata heard the voice's footsteps begin to fade off to his right. He hurried to keep up, still clutching his weapon, praying that they wouldn't run into any monsters on the way to the spring. He also hoped that this wasn't just a dream or a trap. Putata didn't know if will o' the wisps existed underground, but a friendly voice that asked you to follow it to water sounded like it was too good to be true. Putata reasoned that he had no choice. He didn't want to die. If he wanted even a chance at surviving, he had to trust this mysterious voice. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope all of you are prepared to be in this for the long haul. It's only Chapter 2 right now, but there's a lot of story between here and the end.

 

He followed the voice through the darkness for what felt like an hour. All the while, his mouth grew drier and the cuts he'd acquired on the way down started to sting. Putata switched his sharp object to his other hand when his right started to cramp. Putata had been blessed with being ambidextrous. If anything happened, he would be prepared. Sometimes, the voice would stop and ask if he was still there. Putata always assured that he was, but he waited in fear for when the voice wouldn't come and he'd be at the mercy of whatever monsters inhabited the place. 

Finally, he heard the sound of running water. The voice's soft footsteps halted. Putata stopped as well. His eyes were growing more accustomed to the darkness. He could see a suggestion of walls to either side of him, and a fuzzy pale thing that turned out to be his hand. _I will never be able to get through here on my own._

“It's here,” the voice said. “Come.”

Putata tried to follow, but he tripped and fell into the dirt. No, not dirt. Mud. The floor was wet here. Putata groped for the wall and found that it was also slick with water. He struggled to his feet. “I can't just follow your voice. I can hear the spring, but-”

“I'll guide you.” Putata felt a touch on his elbow. He almost jumped out of his skin. The voice was close but he still couldn't make out who it belonged to. Whoever owned the voice led him toward the spring, then gently lowered him to the ground.

Now Putata could make out the water. It was black as its surroundings, but slicker, and moving. It poured from a crack in the wall somewhere overhead, spilling into pool just in front of him. Putata didn't bother wondering whether or not it was safe. He drank. The water was cold and clear. Nothing about it suggested poisoning.

The voice sighed in what sounded like relief. “Not many make it this far. A lot of them are already dying when they come in.” 

_Well I decided that I wasn't going to die._ Putata tried rubbing his wet hands on his trousers, but he only succeeded in spreading dirt around. “How did you manage to live so long down here?” 

“It's the only place I've ever been. I know every twist and turn of the maze.”

Putata considered this. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. He was tired. He needed sleep. It hadn't come to him last night. He'd been too frightened. However, he couldn't sleep yet. Sleep meant death.

“Is there a way out?” Putata asked. “Is there a way out of the labyrinth?”

“There's only one way in and only one way out. People have tried to climb back but...”

“It's impossible,” Putata finished. He lowered his head to his knees. He didn't want to give up this easily. There was so much he hadn't done yet. He'd never finished that painting. “Take me back to the entrance.”

“You just said that it was impossible.”

“Maybe. I don't let things like that stop me.” Putata grinned. He supposed that the voice might be able to see it, but he had no way of knowing if the gesture was returned. “I'm an artist. I need the light.” 

The voice sighed again, this time with regret. “I understand. No one in their right mind would want to stay. For me, it's different. But for outsiders...well. It would be like me being thrown out there. I'll take you to the entrance, but I don't think you'll succeed.” 

“Everyone always doubts me,” Putata said. His head throbbed. The water had helped, but now his tiredness was beginning to catch up to him. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and close his eyes.

“You need rest. I can take you somewhere safe where you can sleep. Then you'll go to the entrance.”

“I don't have time for that.”

“If you really think you can make the climb in the state you're in, then you're either insane or you're stupid. Not even the most delirious outsiders would have _dreamed_ of escape.” Putata felt another light touch, this time on his shoulder. He stood up. As he did, a hand clasped his.

It was very human, worn and rough. There were five fingers and a palm, all in perfect order. Putata nearly wanted to weep with happiness at a familiar sensation, even if it was just a hand. He'd expected to be completely alone. Instead, someone had answered his prayers.

“This way,” the voice whispered. Putata followed, still holding onto the hand. Callouses rubbed against his gritty palms. The hand matched the voice in masculinity. It was a good, strong hand. Putata had no idea who could be on the other end of it, but at least they were comforting. 

As they walked, he heard something slither in the darkness. The voice halted. “Careful,” it said. “There are snakes around. One bite can kill a grown man in an hour.” 

Putata shuddered. No one had any legends about deadly snakes. “How many have died from snake bites?”

“Quite a few. In the old days, it was said they harvested the poison and used it for medicine. They don't anymore, obviously.”

“Are there any other dangerous creatures down here?”

“There are plants – mushrooms – that can paralyze you with a cloud of spores. And beetles.” The voice paused in a way that seemed to be for effect. “There are spirits of the dead, too.”

“So it's true?”

“You can hear them sometimes. Sobbing, screaming-”

“That's enough.”

To Putata's surprise, the voice laughed. “You don't have anything to fear from ghosts. They keep to themselves. Where we're going, you won't hear them. I've known men to go mad from listening to their cries.”

“Well it's a good thing that I have you to talk to then.” Putata wanted to squeeze the hand, to reassure himself that the voice was a real person and not a ghost. But his fingers felt numb from the cold water and the frigid air.

“Quickly,” the voice said. “Just a little further.” 

Putata wanted to ask about monsters. The voice hadn't really mentioned them. There were too many legends for there _not_ to be monsters in the labyrinth. Although, seeing as no one had ever come in and out of the maze alive, it was possible that they were only stories. 

Then, Putata saw a light. His breath caught in his throat. A light. A very small one, but a _light._ It glowed faintly, fighting the darkness. As they drew closer, Putata could see that it came from a crack in the rock, just wide enough for him to crawl through. 

“What's this?” he asked.

“The safe place. The only light in the caves.”

Putata stared. He released the hand and placed his own over the opening. The glow was not very much, but it was better than nothing. It was blue, unearthly and magical. Putata had never seen anything like it.

“Go in.” 

The voice had shrunk back into the shadows, away from the light. It probably hurt their eyes. Putata wished that the glow was strong enough for him to get a glimpse of this mystery benefactor, but there was time for that later. His ducked his head and crawled through the opening. 

Inside, Putata discovered the source of the light. It was crystals. They studded the wall and ceiling, producing their faint glow. Putata looked down at himself. Even in this light it was hard to see, but he could make out scratches and dirt and tears in his clothing. He looked a mess, but there was no one around to see. No one who mattered, at least. 

There was just enough space to lie down comfortably. The floor was dry and sandy, free of debris. Putata prepared to settle in, then remembered that he never would have found this place if it wasn't for the voice. He stuck his head out of the crevice. “I wanted to say thanks...” he began, then discovered that there was no one there. The presence he had felt had vanished.

The voice was gone. 

 

Putata woke in the crystal cave, muscles aching and hungry. The last thing he'd eaten had been a bit of stale bread back in the village prison cell. He couldn't tell how long it had been, but it had to be more than an hour. His stomach let out a pang as he sat up. 

He wasn't unfamiliar with being hungry. Paintings could be hard to sell, even in the best of times. Work was hard to find and most forms of hard labor didn't suit him. He wasn't particularly strong or skilled. Carpentry, tending stables and working in taverns had all disagreed with him. Putata couldn't carry a tune to save his life, so that was entertainment crossed out. He wasn't even a gifted storyteller.

So he could handle going without a bit of food. He just didn't want to starve to death, not before he escaped. He'd rather die under the open sky than down here, even if it was in this very cave. Putata felt something digging into his hand and looked.

The thing that he had picked up earlier to protect himself with turned out to be a piece of bone which had been snapped into a dangerous point. Putata knew almost nothing about anatomy, therefore he didn't know what kind of bone it was. All he cared about was that it was a bone, most likely from a human. He tossed it aside with a shiver.

After a moment's thought, he retrieved it. As much as he hated holding a piece of bone, it was the only protection he had. Putata crawled toward the opening on his knees and peered through it into the darkness. There was only void. He wished the voice had bothered to stay nearby, or at least tell him before it disappeared.

He shrank back into the crystal alcove. It was a beautiful sight. _I must be the only person alive to see this._ Putata wanted to immortalize it in a painting. He could imagine working out the light bouncing from the walls, glowing and sheltering him. It was doubtful he would ever paint again.

A scream tore its way down the tunnel outside. Putata shrank back against the wall of his cave. It had sounded like a child. He remembered being told about the ghosts. _They can't hurt me._ The scream faded. Putata hoped it was a ghost. They wouldn't give a child to the labyrinth, would they? And so soon?

Something silvery and limp landed with a flop on the floor in front of him. Putata cried out instinctively before he realized that he was looking at a fish. It stared back at him, dead eyed. There was a puncture straight through its side. Blood leaked from the hole. It had probably been caught with a spear (though where anyone would find a spear down here was beyond Putata).

“It's me.” The voice had returned. “I brought you food. You're probably hungry.”

Putata looked from the fish to the opening, eyes wide. Not for the first time, he was unsettled by the voice. “Most people cook their food after they catch it,” he said softly, voice trembling.

“Where do you expect me to get a fire from?” the voice huffed. “Anyway, I don't see the problem. It's perfectly fine raw.”

“You eat raw fish?”

“Of course. If you want to live, you'll have to eat it too. If you don't like fish, I could find you a rat...”

“The fish is alright,” Putata said quickly. His stomach growled. Anything was good at this point. He set his bone to the side and picked up the slimy thing. He'd never touched a raw fish before. Fishing was an activity he tried to avoid. Putata did his best to ignore the blood as he brushed dirt off it. _You can do it. Animals bite straight into it all the time. And aren't some of your teeth built for this?_ He closed his eyes. The fish was cold and slimy and unpleasant, but it was food. He could only manage a few bites before nausea overwhelmed him and he had to put it aside. 

“Better?” the voice asked.

Putata rubbed his temples. “I guess. Ugh.”

The voice chuckled a little. “You'll get used to it eventually.”

_I don't want to get used to it._ “Do you have a name? I'm getting tired of thinking of you as a voice.”

“Not really. It never mattered. There was never anyone here to call me anything.” It hesitated, probably thinking. “You could give me a name, if it would make you feel better.”

Putata racked his brain for something he could call the disembodied voice that had saved his life. “What do you think about Mekeke? Would that work?”

“I like it. Mekeke. But what about you? I don't think I ever learned yours.”

“It's Putata.”

“I like your name too. Who gave it to you?”

Putata grinned. “I gave it to myself.”

“That's not right. Others have to name you.”

“Not in my book. I didn't like my old name, so I changed it. I think the one I have now is who I was always meant to be.” He gathered up his weapon again and eased himself through the entrance. There was a shuffling as Mekeke scurried away.

After the light of the crystals, the labyrinth was even blacker than before. Putata groped blindly about. His fingers found something long and thin. It twitched against his hands. Putata gasped and pulled his hands to his chest. “What was that?”

“What?” He felt Mekeke touch his hands. Five fingers, a rough, warm palm. “What is it?”

“I thought I...never mind. It was important.” However, Putata shivered. Whatever he'd felt had been alive. Mekeke took one of his hands. 

“Do you still want me to take you to the entrance?” 

“Yes.” 

Mekeke huffed. “I know you want to have hope...” 

“I'm willing to try anything if it means getting out of here. Even if it seems impossible.” 

“Alright then.” 

Putata followed Mekeke back through the winding hallways, gripping tightly to him as they went. In the distance, he heard another scream, a man's this time. He pretended he hadn't heard it. At one point, they ran through something that felt like cobwebs. Putata had never liked the feeling of spider silk. At least all the webs were unoccupied. 

“How much farther?” he asked after they'd been walking a while.

“Not much.” 

They came to an open space. Putata wondered at his ability to feel the difference. If he looked up, he could see the place he'd fallen from, and the faint glimmer of light. Putata released Mekeke's hand, but didn't move from him. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” 

“Yes.” Putata tucked the bone into his sleeve. He approached the slope. The little bit of light at the top was like a promise. Putata stared at it a while, his heart aching. Finally, he turned back to Mekeke, still cloaked in shadow. “Thanks,” he said. “For helping me.” 

“I was glad to. I only wish...” Mekeke trailed off. “Forget it. Climb.”

Putata searched for a handhold. There were none. He set his jaw, looked up at the distant light of the sun and jumped. The slope was rough and wet. His hands skidded off it. The soles of his shoes scraped helplessly against it. He fell back into the dust.

“You tried,” Mekeke said softly.

“I'm not done yet.” Putata threw himself at the slope again. Again, he fell. He tried at least five more times, each time rubbing his hands raw and falling back to the ground. The last time, he just lay in the dirt, trying to not to scream in frustration. 

“There's no way out,” Mekeke said glumly. 

“I can't stay here!” Putata sat bolt upright, dust showering from his hair. He felt soaked in sweat and freezing cold. He wanted fire and warm food and not to be trapped down here. He wanted to paint. Putata ran his fingers through the dirt. The murky light was just enough to see by if he strained his eyes. All he drew were circles at first, but then they turned into waves and swirls and flowers. _If I could bring them to life..._ But he didn't have the energy for it.

Mekeke was silent for what felt like an eternity. Putata thought he'd been abandoned until he spoke again, his voice even quieter than before, “I don't want to be alone.”

Putata wished, like he had countless times already, that he could see Mekeke's face. Even if he knew his way around, even if he survived off raw fish, Mekeke was just as much a prisoner as Putata. Only he knew how to survive. It must have been a torturous existence for him, living his whole life in the labyrinth, watching people die. Of course he was lonely.

“I'll die if I stay here,” Putata said.

The shadows shifted as Mekeke moved. The man was easier to spot from this angle. He was almost discernible from the rest of the dark.

“I would take you with me,” Putata continued. “And I'd bring something to life for you.”

Mekeke let out a small gasp. “I don't...I don't belong up there.”

“Why not?”

The shadow shook its head. Putata congratulated himself for spotting it. He couldn't make out anything else about Mekeke's figure, however, because he was inching back into the tunnel. “You have your world, I have mine.”

“That's ridiculous. Don't you want more than waiting for another victim to fall down here? Don't you want to see the sun?”

“It would be blinding for me.”

Putata sighed. “If you want to stay, then fine. But I'm going to get out of here.” He turned back to the entrance, to the hole he'd been thrown down not too long ago. _I am probably the luckiest criminal to be sent here._ He reached one hand for the light, fingers splayed. The darkness would not win. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that all of this is making sense. Still polishing, so there might be a delay in the near future. Possibly going to add art? Right now, there's not much to see.

 

 

They returned to the crystal hollow. Putata's limbs felt heavy and sore. Mekeke had taken him back to the spring on their way, but the water did little to make him feel better. As he curled up on his side, he said, “Are you still there?”

“Still here. What do you need?”

“How long did the others survive?”

“A couple days at most, if they didn't have an accident.”

Putata guessed his days were numbered, even with Mekeke's help. There was only so much raw fish he could stomach. He closed his eyes, listening to Mekeke's footsteps fade away. Maybe he was going for more fish, or water. It didn't matter.

He didn't sleep. As exhausted as he was, he couldn't coax his body to drift off. He sat up, frustrated. Burning the midnight oil really only worked for him when he was motivated enough. It was difficult to stay focused in the labyrinth. There were too many other things to worry about, like snakes.

Someone was crying outside. Putata listened closer. It was definitely someone sobbing, very softly. Putata remembered what Mekeke had told him about ghosts. He slid the bone out of his sleeve and peered through the crack in the wall.

To his surprise, he could actually see someone out there. She was hunched over, crying into her skirt. Her body was racked with sobs and trembling. Putata wondered how on earth he could make her out in the blackness.

“Um, excuse me...” he began.

The girl's head whipped up. Her sobs cut off, but she still shook. Putata eased his way out of the hollow. She hadn't turned around yet.

“Are you alright?” Was it possible for another to follow him into the labyrinth so soon? As far as he knew, he couldn't have been down here more than a day. He reached out to touch her shoulder.

His fingers passed through her. Putata jumped back. He realized too late that the reason why he could see her was because she was emitting a faint, ghostly glow. She was a phantom, a shade. Putata pressed his back to the wall in fright.

But the ghost still didn't seem to notice him. Instead, she turned her head to look down the tunnel. Whatever she saw – or didn't see – caused her to leap up and run away, her footfalls making no sound as she went. Putata let out the breath he'd been holding. It seemed that she wasn't interested in harming him.

As her form vanished into the darkness, Putata picked up the sound of someone approaching. From the direction the ghost had looked. Putata tensed up once more, tightening his grip on the bone knife.

“Putata?”

“Oh, thank goodness. It's just you.” Putata relaxed. He wished, not for the last time, that he could just _see._ It would make things so much easier.

“Why are you out here? I thought you were resting,” Mekeke said.

“I can't sleep. I heard a ghost.”

“Don't worry about them. They're harmless.”

Putata nodded. He hoped so. At least there was one that wasn't out to hurt him. He got to his feet. “Where did you go?”

“Fishing,” Mekeke said. “There's a lake.”

“Did you catch anything?” Putata asked, hoping guiltily that the answer was no.

“Unfortunately not. But I was going to go back.”

“Can I come with you?” Putata asked. “I've never heard of lakes underground.”

“Sure.” Mekeke gently took Putata's free hand. It was amazing what mere touch could do. Putata's jittery nerves seemed to calm the moment he felt the rough surface of Mekeke's hand. Reassured, Putata tucked the bone knife back into his sleeve. If he was with Mekeke, he would be safe.

 

Although the darkness seemed absolute, Putata could discern the shape of the lake. It moved, lapping softly at the bank. Still, Putata almost walked right into it. If he squinted, he could just make out the opposite bank, and the heavy shadows of stones rising up out of the surface.

Mekeke carefully guided him around the water. “Careful. It's freezing.”

“I'm sure it is.” Putata put his head to one side. “What's that sound?”

“A sound?”

“Yeah. Rushing water.” Putata loosened his grip on Mekeke's hand. “I can't tell where it's coming from though.”

“Oh. The lake feeds out somewhere,” Mekeke said, pulling Putata back. “There's a tunnel over there.”

“Have you ever gone down there?”

“No. The water gets too deep. And I can't swim.”

“Do you think it could lead to the surface? Maybe into a river.”

“Putata...”

“Mekeke. I'm not going to die down here.”

“Then don't. No one is saying you have to die.”

Putata opened his mouth, then shut it. The implication that he would start living down here made his skin crawl. He had thought of dying, but never of becoming someone like Mekeke - seeing in the dark, eating raw fish, talking to ghosts and criminals for company. As much as Mekeke had helped him, Putata didn't want to be the man.

“Just let me think for a minute,” he said. “You should go fish.”

Mekeke was quiet, but he let go of Putata's hand. “Don't go anywhere. It's dangerous to wander.” Putata listened to Mekeke's footsteps as they faded into the distant. He sat down on the bank. It felt sandy, more so than the rest of the caverns. He gathered some in his fist and let it trail through his fingers.

The possibility of escape was too sweet to resist, even if the way was dangerous. Putata listened to the water for a while, then started formulating plans. He could drown in that tunnel, especially as he wouldn't be able to see where he was going. And it could lead deeper into the labyrinth, where even Mekeke couldn't go. Or it might break the surface, but Putata would have run out of breath before then.

Portable light was the issue. There were no torches or matches down here, and besides, those wouldn't last underwater. The only light in the entirety of the labyrinth came from the crystals.

The crystals. Putata sat up. If he pried a crystal off the wall of the cavern, he could use it to light his way through the tunnel. He would just have to figure out how to get one out. And whether or not to tell Mekeke.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Mekeke. It was just that he was clearly lonely and would probably prefer it if Putata stayed. He wasn't very interested in escape, or at least doubtful of it. Putata didn't think he'd go so far as to stop him from getting out, but one couldn't be too careful.

He was about to stand up when he heard the muffled sound of sobs. _Oh no._ Putata was almost afraid to turn his head. Almost.

The ghost from before was now crouched by the edge of the lake, her face in her hands, only a few inches from where Putata sat. Closer now, Putata could see that her knuckles were cracked and her fingernails were dirty. Her hair was a tangled mess along her back. She might have been beautiful once. _What did she do to deserve this?_

On an impulse, he cleared his throat loud enough for her to hear. Unlike the last time, the ghost lifted her head. Her cheeks were tear stained. “Who are you?” she whispered. Her voice sounded as if it was coming from down a well. Her eyes flicked up and down, examining him. “Are you...alive?”

“Yes.”

“How can you be alive?”

“Someone helped me.”

The ghost shook her head. “There is no one else here.”

“But there is. Haven't you seen him?”

The ghost still looked confused. Then her eyes widened in horror. She clamped her hand down on his wrist. Putata, who had been unable to feel her, was startled by how real her grip felt. And how cold. “You can't trust him,” she hissed. “He's a...”

She stopped, looked up and vanished. Putata touched his arm where she'd grabbed him. A chill went through him that had nothing to do with her grip or the labyrinth. It felt as if he couldn't breathe.

“Putata?”

He jumped. Mekeke was standing right behind him. _No wonder she vanished._ Putata didn't bother turning around. He wouldn't be able to see the man anyway. “Yes?” he said, trying not to sound so terrified.

“Who were you talking to?” Mekeke asked.

“I don't know,” Putata answered honestly. “Just a ghost.”

“What did they say?”

Putata shrugged. “Nothing much. She disappeared.”

“They don't always want to talk.”

Putata stood up. “You know, I'm sort of tired. Can you take me back to the crystal place?”  
“Do you want anything to eat?” Mekeke asked. “I caught some more fish.”

“No,” Putata said quickly. “I'm fine. Just tired.” He found Mekeke's arm in the dark. Though he didn't want to admit to himself, the way that ghost acted had disturbed him. Could he really trust Mekeke? It appeared he had to if he wanted to survive. But on the other hand, he'd never seen Mekeke's face. You didn't have to see someone to trust them, right?


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

Getting a single crystal off the wall was no easy task. With a pickax and maybe three friends, it would have been simpler. But it was just Putata with the bit of bone and his weakened arms trying to pry one rock from a bigger rock. By the time it came loose, his hands were bleeding and the piece of bone was snapped in half. 

But he had his light. Putata cupped his prize in his palms. Would it be enough? In the cave, it was difficult to say, because there was so much light there already. He wasn't too happy that the bone was destroyed. His only weapon now in pieces, he was defenseless. 

Putata poked his head out of the cave. Mekeke had left him without any indication of where he was going or what he was doing. He said he would come back later though. Putata was unsure of when “later” would be, and hoped he hadn't missed his only window of escape. 

He held out the crystal. The light was faint, but just enough to see by. Putata grinned. One success, even if it was a small one. He eased out of the cave, holding the light higher. The sandy floor was littered with bits of rock and bone. Putata stirred the pieces with his toe in search of a new weapon. 

He decided to abandon his search. He needed time to find the lake. 

It took only a few minutes for him to be completely lost. All of the tunnels looked the same. _Mekeke must find his way without markers._ Frustrated, Putata prepared to turn back, but realized he didn't know which way “back” was. Now he really was going to die, even with a light. 

He sat down against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him. The crystal continued to glow from between his fingers. He'd tried to follow whatever tunnels looked wet, but he didn't feel any closer to the lake. Not to mention that the blue light was not that easy to see by. 

The blood on his hands was congealing, and every time he moved his fingers he felt it crack apart. His throat was as dry as a desert. Even if he wanted to call for Mekeke's help, he couldn't make a single sound anyway. The little bit of raw fish he'd had earlier was not enough to compete with his hunger pangs either. 

_I'm going to die. Before, it could've gone either way. But now I'm_ really _going to die._

“You.” 

Putata opened his eyes. He hadn't even realized he'd closed them. The ghost girl was standing in the mouth of one of the tunnels. Standing up straight, Putata could see that she was rather small, and wearing a worn out dress that might have once been the color of spring leaves. Her hair was woven with dead flowers. 

“Follow me,” she said, and began to retreat backward down the tunnel. 

Putata forced himself upright. He wasn't certain he could trust her either, but he was damned if he did, damned if he didn't, so what was the point? If she led him into a ravine, at least his death would be quick. 

By the light of the crystal, the ghost's translucence was more obvious. Putata could see the path through her back. Her feet didn't seem to touch the ground either. If his voice hadn't gone to hell, Putata would have had a million questions for her. 

“Be careful,” the ghost warned. “The path is rough.” 

“Why...” Putata tried to wet his throat. He wasn't successful. “Why are you helping me?” 

She looked over her shoulder at him. “I can't stand to see people in pain.” She stopped, extending an arm. “Here.” 

Putata couldn't believe it. It was the lake. The ghost girl had led him back to the lake. He could hear the water rushing down the tunnel. He held the light over his head. With the light, he could see the edge of the water, but little else. He would still have to rely on his sense of sound. 

“Thanks,” he choked out. 

“Drink something,” the ghost said. “The water's safe.” 

Putata knelt by the lake and cupped some of the frigid water in his hands. His teeth ached as he drank. The ghost girl remained standing, or hovering rather. “You're different from the others,” she said. 

“How?” 

She shook her head. “You shouldn't be alive. You shouldn't have a light.” 

Putata touched the crystal. Though he'd been the one to take it off the wall, he never would have known about the cave without Mekeke's help. “I had help.” He paused. “Why are you scared of him?” 

The ghost girl hugged herself. That frightened look in her eyes had returned. “You wouldn't understand. You can't see him. If you could, you never would have trusted him in the first place.” Then she turned. “I have to go.” 

“Wait, what do you me-” Putata began, but she was already gone. A few wizened flower petals drifted to the ground in her wake. Besides that, there was no sign that she'd ever been there at all. 

 

The light didn't do much to penetrate the icy cold waters of the lake. It was just as black and secretive as it had been in the dark. Putata wasted a good ten minutes just steeling himself to get in. He was sure his toes went completely numb the second they touched the water. 

He could feel the current that led through the tunnel. It was weaker the closer it was to shore, but as he moved toward the tunnel, it intensified, dragging at his legs. Putata held the crystal over his head, trying to get a better look. The sound of rushing water was deafening this close. He could feel the lake bed sloping downward, and the water began to creep up his waist. 

Suddenly, the slippery surface of the lake bed shifted beneath his feet. Putata fell. He was a fine swimmer. He'd been taught when he was young. But against this current, he might as well have never set foot in the water before. It pulled him under and held him there, sweeping him through the tunnel. He tried to claw his way back to the surface, desperately seeking a hand hold on the smooth lake bed. The crystal was swept out of his fingers and disappeared, plunging him into darkness. Freezing water rushed into his mouth and nose. 

Through the panic, Putata commended himself for even trying to escape. He felt a stab of guilt for going without Mekeke. It wasn't fair to leave him behind, even if he'd refused initially. _Maybe he really was just worried about me dying,_ Putata thought, as he felt his hands go numb. 

Then he felt a tug on the back of his shirt. At first he thought he was imagining it, because he was passing out, but then he felt it again, stronger this time. He started to move _away_ from the tunnel. The tug came again, this time dragging him out of the water. Putata gasped. He never thought he would have been grateful to taste the stale air of the caves again. 

“I told you it was dangerous,” Mekeke said. “I don't know what you were thinking.” 

Putata couldn't answer, seeing as he was still in shock. Mekeke dragged him back to the shore, laying him out on the bank. He pressed on Putata's stomach. Putata turned over and vomited up what felt like a gallon of water. As he lay there, shuddering, he heard Mekeke's voice hovering over him. 

“It's alright,” he said. “You're going to be alright. Hang on.” Putata felt Mekeke gently wrap him in some sort of fabric. It smelled of dust and water. He was shivering so violently that he felt as if his bones were coming out of his skin. Mekeke put a hand on his cheek. His palm was warm. “Don't fall asleep. You can't fall asleep yet. Oh...” 

_He saved me._ Well, it was clear that Mekeke didn't want him dead. And then Mekeke was lifting him up, carrying him. Putata swayed as Mekeke walked. _I lost the crystal. That was an hour wasted._ Putata wanted to laugh, but his throat and lungs weren't up to it. If he had the tools to do so, he could paint himself a new light. He could make a hundred lights. He could paint a ladder, a way out. If he'd had a brush and ink when they'd first captured him, he wouldn't be here at all. 

Mekeke was laying him down on something soft. He wasn't in the crystal room. Mekeke piled what felt like blankets onto him, although, on closer inspection, they turned out be articles of clothing he'd gathered over the years. Putata shivered beneath all of them. 

Mekeke lifted his head and eased a soft bundle beneath it. “Your lips are blue,” he said. 

Putata tried to smile. “I decided to add another color to my face.” 

“I don't know how you can joke at a time like this.” But there was an obvious tone of relief in Mekeke's voice. “Stop talking and get warm.” 

He was about to turn away. Putata's hand snapped out and grabbed his arm. They were strong. “Why do you keep helping me? Why would you keep me alive?”

Mekeke gently tucked Putata's freezing hand back under the covers. “I'm lonely. Now rest.” 


	5. Chapter 5

 

Mekeke roused him a little while later. “I brought you some more food.” 

“Not raw fish,” Putata protested.

“No. Bat.”

Putata groaned. He tried to bury himself beneath all the various rags Mekeke had covered him with. Mekeke clicked his tongue, an odd gesture coming from someone who'd spent all their time in a cave. “Listen,” he said. “You're going to have to eat. I know it's not what you're used to, but it's all I have. Please.”

Putata lifted his head. “Okay.”

“I have water too. Sit up.”

Putata had no choice but to obey. He was glad to find out that he wasn't just eating the bat fur and all. Instead, Mekeke fed him skinned pieces of meat. Bats were very gamy, Putata discovered, but not inedible. He just had to remind himself not to think of what he was eating. It took a lot of water to swallow it all down. It tasted vibrantly of minerals.

“Are you feeling any better?”

“Yes. A bit.” Putata's lungs still burned, but otherwise, he was in good shape. He was still dog tired. So many things had happened. He couldn't handle them all at once. He wanted to go back to sleep. But curiosity got the better of him. Maybe Mekeke would be more responsive now that he was an invalid. “Mekeke, how did you get here?”

“I told you, I've always been here. There's nothing before that.”

“Yes, but how?” 

Mekeke sighed. “I don't want to talk about this. Ask me for anything else.” 

Putata thought for a moment. “How did you know where to find me?” 

“I went back to check on the crystal cave and you were gone. I guessed you'd gone to find the lake. Not that I thought you'd actually make it there. How did you do that?” 

Putata flushed with guilt. “I...took a crystal off the wall. I thought I could find my way if I had a light. I lost it though.” 

“You need a bit more than a light, friend,” Mekeke said. 

“Well, I know that now. I only made because I followed a ghost.” Putata huffed. “Has anyone ever figured out a way to navigate down here?” 

“They've tried,” Mekeke said. “One man came down with string. He used to feel his way back to the entrance. Eventually, it broke and he wandered into a pit. Navigation doesn't do you much good unless you're planning to stay though. And no one wants to stay. They want to find a way out.”

“There is a way out.” 

“Please stop. You'll kill yourself.”

“I told you I'd rather die than give up.” Putata set his jaw. “I want to see the sun again, Mekeke. And I want to take you with me.”

“You can't.” Mekeke was firm. “That's not my place. This is my world.”

“Haven't you ever been curious about what's up there? What you haven't seen? Haven't you ever wanted more than just wandering these tunnels alone for the rest of your life?”

Mekeke hesitated. Putata freed his hand from the coverings and found Mekeke's in the dark. It was just as strong as before, but a little less sure. “Maybe. Would you really take me with you?”

“I promise.”

“You might not like me once we're on the surface.”

“Why?” Putata felt worry fluttering beneath his breastbone. Mekeke's hand loosened in his. Putata tried to grasp it tighter, but Mekeke was already pulling away.

“There are things that I can hide in the dark. It's easier here. In the light, things are complicated.” He sighed. “In the light, you might hate me.”

“I've never hated anyone and I can't hate you. You saved me. If it weren't for you, I'd have been dead much sooner.”

Mekeke was silent. Then he said, “Go to sleep.” 

 

When Putata couldn't keep his eyes closed any longer, he saw that the ghost girl was hovering over him. Actually _hovering_ over him. Putata almost screamed, but he held it in. Instead, he counted to three, then whispered, “What are you doing here?” 

“I came to warn you.”

“About Mekeke?” Putata said. “He saved me from drowning. If he was going to murder me, I don't think he'd have gone to all this trouble.” He tried to hide himself in the pile of fabric.

“Please. You have to listen to me. He could be back any second.”

Putata wanted to ignore her. But he was feeling uneasy. What Mekeke had said earlier came back to him. _There are things that I can hide in the dark._ “What is it? Why shouldn't I trust Mekeke?” 

The ghost girl leaned closer. She radiated cold. Her tangled hair brushed against Putata's face. Her solidity seemed to vary. Her voice was low as she said, “He's a _monster._ ” 

Before he could ask for clarification, she was gone, snuffed out like a candle. The place immediately felt warmer. _What did she mean by monster?_ It was hard to imagine someone as kind as Mekeke being a beast. He ate raw fish and bats, but what else was there? He could see in the dark, but he'd been here since birth apparently. His hand and arm was human. His voice was human. And to be honest, Putata was starting to think that the legends about monsters in the labyrinth were just that. Mekeke hadn't mentioned them and he'd heard nothing from them. 

“You're awake. How are you feeling?” This was Mekeke, returned from wherever he'd run off to. He had more water and (unfortunately) more bat. Or maybe it was rat this time.

“Could be worse,” Putata said, struggling to sit up. Mekeke had him drink, but he quickly conveyed that he wasn't hungry. Mekeke seemed to understand and set the animals aside. “I'm going to need a new crystal.”

“What do you need a new crystal for?”

“Escape, Mekeke. Escape.”

“And a crystal is going to help you with that?” Mekeke said. “What are you trying to see?”

“I want to know where I'm going.” _I want to feel in control again._ “Can you take me back to where the crystals are? Oh, and I need something to pry with, like a tool.” 

“Is anything I say going to stop you?” Mekeke asked flatly.

“No.”

“Then I'd better let you march straight to your death then.”

 

Mekeke hung back from the cave. He'd given Putata a new bone. This one was disconcertingly larger. Putata did his best to ignore it. He was also trying to ignore what the ghost had said to him earlier. Nothing about her seemed more trustworthy than Mekeke. And she spoke so vaguely. But still, something gnawed at him: morbid curiosity. When Mekeke had asked what he'd been trying to see earlier, Putata had considered shining a light on Mekeke and finding out what he looked like. _Do I really want to know?_

To shake the ghost's comments off, he decided to clear up the whole “monster” issue. “Mekeke,” he asked as he scraped away at the edges of a crystal. “Have you ever heard of monsters in the labyrinth?”

He might have imagined the gasp that followed his question. He didn't imagine the way Mekeke's voice trembled when he said, “I have heard some things, yes. I've never seen a monster though. The only things that live down here are snakes and...spiders.”

“And fish.”

“And fish,” Mekeke agreed. “Did they ever say what sort of monsters live down here?”

“No, seeing as no one's ever gotten out. I-” The crystal Putata had been working on fell out of the wall, finally, clattering against the floor. Putata gathered it up with a little cry of triumph. “I've got it.” He cradled it against his chest. _I don't know if I'll be able to do this again. It takes too long._ The pads of his fingers were practically torn to shreds by now. 

Putata eased his way out of the alcove. “Quick. I want to get this over with as soon as possible.” Mekeke took his hand and they ran. It occurred to Putata that if it didn't work this time, he might have to give up. That thought hit him harder than the thought of dying. _It might not be so bad. Maybe one day you'll be able to see in the dark as well as Mekeke does._

Mekeke. The man had saved his life countless times by now. And Putata could offer nothing in return but escape. _You went behind his back already. And he's said no._ But whether he succeeded in escape or died, he would leave the poor creature alone down here, which wasn't fair. He might as well try one last time. 

“Come with me.” 

“I already told you why that won't work.”

Putata shook his head. “I don't want to be alone. Do you want to be alone?”

“No, I don't. But-”

“Then please come with me.”

“And then what?” Mekeke demanded. “What happens after you bring me up there? I'm not used to the light. I could go blind.”

“ _I'm_ going blind down here. I could be your eyes.” 

“You offer me way too much.”

“I'm trying to repay a favor.” Putata moved closer. He could probably reach out and touch Mekeke's arm. “I'd like to think that we're friends.”

“I wouldn't know about that. You only trusted me because you needed me.”

Putata swallowed. That was true. “You saved my life and I'm grateful.”

“You've never even seen my face,” Mekeke argued.

Putata had nothing to say to that. A couple of possibilities sprang to mind, like _of course I haven't, because you keep lurking in the shadows where I can't see you._ They all sounded wrong, though. Putata looked down at the crystal in his hands. He was close enough. If he uncovered it...

He didn't stop to think about his decision. Putata moved his hand from the top of the glowing crystal and held it up. The blue light wasn't the best, but it certainly illuminated Mekeke. The first thing Putata saw was that his right eye was gone, covered up with scar tissue. While it wasn't pretty, it didn't shock Putata the way the rest of his benefactor did. 

Mekeke's other eye was true, but it was...strange. Instead of one pupil, he had four, gold against the white of his eye. He squeezed it shut at the light, grimacing. Sharp teeth filled his mouth, jagged and unruly. They were stained with dried blood – most likely animal. 

But the worst thing were the growths protruding from his back. They were thin and long, segmented. They twitched slightly and began to curl in towards Mekeke's body. He was very aware of them, these spider's legs.

Putata let the crystal drop. The light now only touched their feet. Putata blinked, unable to remove the image from his mind. It would be burned there forever.

“I told you that you would hate me once you saw me.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. School happened.

 

He landed hard on his tailbone, scuttling away from the sight he'd just seen. His heart pounded, the taste of fear spread across his tongue. His instincts warred with each other. There was no way he could outrun Mekeke. If he tried to fight, he'd most certainly lose. 

Mekeke stood above him, partly in shadow. Putata saw his shoulders drop. “I don't know why I thought things would be different,” he mumbled, probably to himself. 

“Y-you're a...” _Monster?_ The spirit was right. Why hadn't he believed her?

“There's no word for what I am. I'm the only one.” 

_The only one?_ Mekeke knelt to retrieve the crystal. Putata stared at his features again. Apart from the spider-like limbs, he was human looking. Dark green hair hung about his face untidily. He was deathly pale. Here was a creature that had never seen the sun. Mekeke stepped forward, his human hand extended. “I won't hurt you,” he said. “I never intended to hurt you. Please believe me.” 

The trouble was he wanted to. So far, Mekeke had done nothing but help him. Putata looked at the glowing rock cupped in Mekeke's palm. If he was thinking logically, Mekeke had had ample opportunity to kill and eat him. 

“I...I can't...” 

“I know,” Mekeke said. He looked away, ashamed. Shadows cut across his face. “All the others ran. Then they died before I could help them. I thought this time, I'd found someone...” He trailed off. Putata's heart twinged with sympathy. He remembered Mekeke's strong, comforting grip, his willingness to share food and water, the way he had saved his life. 

Thinking about this drew his mind back to the hole in the fish, the long thin thing he'd brushed in the dark, whatever had hoisted him out of the water. The evidence had been right in front of him the whole time. 

Putata held out his hand to accept the crystal. It dropped back into his palm. “Why are you...how did you...?” He never could say the right thing when it mattered. 

Mekeke breathed a heavy sigh. “I was born like this. And then they threw me into the pit. That's all I know.”

Putata swallowed. He'd never imagined that anyone would throw a child down into the pit. Then again, to them, Mekeke was a monster. No. It was still wrong. Putata couldn't help what he was, of course, but he was an adult. He could hide himself. Mekeke hadn't had a choice. 

“I understand why you don't want to go to the surface then,” Putata said, images of witch hunts flashing past his mind's eye. In all honesty, the same could happen to him. He hadn't thought about the  
“after” when he'd put together his escape plans. 

Putata looked down at the crystal in his hand. “If I leave here now, what happens to you?” 

“The same thing I've been doing for years: surviving.”

“But is that really what you want to do?”

“Putata, you've seen me now.”

“I know.” Putata's fingers closed around the crystal, trapping its light in his palm. He held it up again slightly, just to get another glimpse of Mekeke. He didn't shrink away this time, there was no point. Even though he was prepared this time, Putata still felt his heart stop a little. _A monster._ “I just don't see the point in staying down here and waiting for the next prisoner to die in front of you.” 

Mekeke made a noise at the back of his throat. “This is the hand I was dealt. I make the best of it. Besides, there's still no guarantee that you'll make it.” 

“If I don't make it, then I die,” Putata said. “Either way, you'll be alone.” He tried to make his voice softer. “Is that really what you want?” 

Mekeke opened his mouth to object, but closed it again. He chewed his bottom lip, those jagged teeth pressing into the flesh. Putata winced a little just looking at it. Not that Mekeke's teeth were so bad. Just sharp. “I am lonely. There's no way to fix that. It's what I deserve. Monsters don't make friends. Monsters are meant to hide in the dark.” 

“Even if you are a monster, you don't deserve to live down here alone until you finally drop dead. That's not a life. That's barely surviving. Isn't there something more you want? Anything?” 

Mekeke looked at the ground. He was still squinting from the light, but he appeared to be adjusting to it. “We can't always get what we want.” 

“Tell it to me anyway.”

“I want...” Mekeke lifted a hand to his face, his fingertips brushing the scar tissue on his eye. “I don't want to be alone anymore. That's all I want.” 

Putata held out the stone. Mekeke pulled back ever so slightly. “Then come with me.” 

“I can't.” 

“If you come with me, I promise that you won't be alone. I'm...I'm not wanted either. We can be outcasts together, alright?” Mekeke looked at his hand questionably. Putata stepped forward. “I'll paint you something, bring something to life. Just for you. But you won't be able to see it unless you come with me.” 

Mekeke pressed his lips together for a long moment, then said, “You promise? You wouldn't abandon me once we got to the surface?” 

Putata shook his head. “I don't make promises I can't keep.”

“Why would you do this? Why would you do this _for me_?” 

“Because I don't want to be alone,” Putata confessed. “I don't have friends or family. I told you I'm not wanted. Even if you are a monster, you've been kind to me. You saved my life. You didn't have to do that.” 

Mekeke hesitated one more time. Putata thought his head would explode with impatience. Finally, Mekeke took his hand. It felt just as reassuring as it had in the dark. “I still don't understand fully,” the monster said. “But if you want me to follow you, I will. I'm tired of being lonely.” 

Putata smiled, mostly with relief. _What am I doing? This might be the worst mistake, or the greatest decision, I've ever made._ There was no way of knowing, however, where this particular choice might lead. Putata didn't believe in fate. He did believe in choices. _I am making the right choice._ But another, nastier voice that lived within him said, _is it because you pity him? You pity the poor monster in the abyss. You need him to feel better about yourself, about your troubles._ Putata dismissed it. He wouldn't think about his reasons. It was only important to focus on the fact that freeing Mekeke from their shared prison was the right thing to do. 

Mekeke's spider legs twitched and he smiled. It was a strange sight, vaguely unsettling. However, the emotion behind it was so basically human that Putata's features relaxed and he returned the gesture. He squeezed Mekeke's hand. “I'll get you out of here,” he promised. “I really believe we'll do it.” 


	7. Chapter 7

 If Putata had his hesitations about getting back in the water, Mekeke was completely petrified. Putata cupped the glowing stone in his hands, holding it up to shine off the surface of the water. Mekeke had taken hold of his sleeve, as if afraid he might drift away.

“You're sure you want me to come?” he asked.

“I'm sure.”

“I've never been out of the labyrinth.”

“I know.” Putata felt the water creeping up his waist. He glanced at Mekeke. Only a small amount of the light was hitting him, but now that Putata was looking for them, he could make out the shadows of Mekeke's spider arms. He held in a shudder. Truth be told, he was frightened. _What the hell am I doing? This could get us both killed_. _And he's..._ He couldn't bring himself to despise Mekeke or revile him, but at his most base level, he was disturbed. _You're saving him. This is the right thing._

“What happens if we drown?” Mekeke asked, a tremor in his voice.

“Better to die trying than give up,” Putata replied. He moved slowly, so that Mekeke would be able to keep up. He could feel the current now, the tug he'd felt when he went under. The bed of the subterranean lake shifted beneath his feet. “We're going to have to go under at some point. So just...hold your breath.”

“When? Putata, I don't know how to-”

“Hey, it'll be fine.” Putata turned to smile reassuringly at Mekeke and caught himself focusing on a point far away in the darkness. “I'll tell you when. Just follow me.”

Mekeke didn't return the expression. He scraped at his bottom lip with his jagged teeth. Putata noticed that his mouth was torn up from this nervous habit.

They kept moving further into the tunnel. Just as before, the water deepened. This time, Putata was aware of the drop off. He murmured a warning to Mekeke and dug his heels in. He wasn't going to be tricked. The sound of rushing water seemed louder in the tunnel. He tightened his grip on the light stone. He wouldn't lose it this time.

The water kept creeping up. Mekeke made a noise like a treed cat. There were white peaks on top of the water. Putata knew they wouldn't be able to go much further by walking. He was already having trouble maintaining his balance. Mekeke grabbed his wrist for support. This was the point of no return.

“Okay. Deep breath now. Just try and hang on to me.” Putata gathered a reserve of air, clamped his mouth shut – a difficult task for him, according to some of his meaner acquaintances – and dropped into the water. Mekeke was fast behind.

 

Putata had often been told stories of giants when he was younger and one of his nightmares had been about getting eaten. The experience of swimming – rather, being dragged – through the tunnel was a lot like those dreams. It felt like being swallowed. The glow stone was ripped from his hand and he became blind again. Seconds after, Mekeke's hand was gone as well.

At one point, his head connected sharply with a piece of rock and he thought he might pass out. He wasn't sure his lungs could hold. Water pushed at his lips and nose, trying to find an entrance. He had no control over his body. It was tossed about, at higher and higher speed. He hurtled blindly down that tunnel, heart pounding.

When he'd said earlier that he was comfortable with dying in the attempt, he hadn't acknowledged that this was what it actually meant. Putata wasn't ready to die. He would _never_ be ready to die. He thought he might scream, but then he _would_ die. Right now.

He hit a wall. There was no way he could last much longer. _Stupid, image based magic!_ If he'd been able to pick his magic, he would have chosen being able to breathe underwater for sure.

Putata prayed that the surface was near, and gave up. His mouth opened. Freezing water rushed in. This attempt was going just as horribly as the last. This time, Mekeke couldn't save him. Mekeke might have already drowned.

Suddenly, the darkness vanished. Putata rolled through the water. He looked up. And looked up. He could see. There was a sky, not a ceiling, above him. Putata felt adrenaline surge through him. He clawed upward, kicking furiously, water still sweeping down his throat.

His head burst up. He coughed loudly, trying to spit the water out of his lungs. The current was still pushing him along, but toward the bank. It took only a moment to realize he was in a river above ground. Putata squinted. After all the shadows, it was hard to see. His hands found wet sand and mud. Soon, he was crawling out of the shallows, vomiting the lake.

Shaking, he waited for his eyes to adjust. There was green grass shooting up between his fingers. Green. There was color. He collapsed, breathing the outside air in as deeply as he could. It wasn't a dream. He wasn't dead. He'd escaped. He was the first to ever escape.

But not the only one. He remembered Mekeke. Putata sat up. He saw stars. Blinking them away, he tried to concentrate on the glittering surface of the river. There was no sign of anything human shaped in the water.

“Oh, no,” Putata said. His voice sounded harsh. He coughed again. He still felt like he was drowning. Getting to his feet was a struggle. His knees buckled immediately and he crashed back to the ground.

What could he have done? The water moved so fast, it was only too easy to be separated, especially in the dark. But he'd been unable to keep his promises, just like always. Somewhere, Mekeke was probably drowned or drowning, helpless to save himself.

_It's my fault. I'm the one who persuaded him to leave the labyrinth. This is all my fault._ Putata tried to stand up again. He couldn't give up just yet. Mekeke still might have survived. He might have been able to hold his breath long enough to get through.

This time, when he straightened, the ground tilted, but he didn't fall. The artist took a step forward, then another. If he could walk, then he could get through this. He began searching the bank. All he found at first were stones and sticks, cast ashore by the current and previous storms.

And then he saw it: the scrap of black smeared against the bank. Putata moved as quickly as he could without hurting himself, moving cautiously over the slippery mud. As he grew closer, his pulse quickened. It was definitely Mekeke. His spider legs were twitching feebly in the sunlight. But whether or not he was alive remained to be seen.

“Mekeke!” Putata called. Relief shot through him as the prone body stirred. He sank to his knees beside the monster, hands hovering somewhere between conducting and soothing a frightened animal. “It's me. Are you okay?”

Sluggishly, Mekeke rolled over, his one good eye a slit against the sunlight. He coughed violently, trying to expel the water from his lungs. Putata pushed him over again so he could spit the river out. Once he was done, Mekeke turned back to him.

“It's too bright,” he groaned. “I can't see.”

Putata was too overjoyed to worry that Mekeke was essentially blind now. He felt his face split into a grin. “We lived,” he said. “We actually did it!”

Mekeke nodded, a fatigued gesture. “I thought I was gonna die.”

“You didn't. And that's what's important. Here.” Putata tore a strip of fabric from Mekeke's coat and wrapped it around the other man's eyes. “Can you open your eye now?”

“I...think so. Can you help me sit up?” Putata obliged. Mekeke's hands were trembling. Mekeke looked around. “I can just barely see through this. It'll do until my eyes adjust.”

They stood together, using each other as support. Putata shaded his eyes and took in their surroundings. There was the river, of course, whose source seemed to come from beneath a boulder, carved with a strange symbol. Putata guessed they must have been pushed up through whatever opening was beneath it. He was just glad it was big enough to allow them through. From there, the river widened out, carved by years of flow. Willows crowded further down the bank, letting their branches hang in the shallows. And farther away, across a field dotted with sheep, was the old village. Putata felt his heart squeeze looking at it. It had always seemed small to him, but now, from the distance, it was miniscule. Insignificant.

He surprisingly felt no resentment towards the place. They had left him to die, but only out of fear. Putata was never very good at holding grudges, unless they were against his brother, which was what got him exiled in the first place.

Now he was exiled again, except this time, he wasn't alone. Which might not be a good thing. In the sunlight, Mekeke's pallor was more noticeable, his spider legs more nightmarish. With his eyes covered, he appeared to be some kind of messenger of death. How was he going to hide this?

“Are we going there?” Mekeke asked, pointing at the village.

“You can see it?”

“Only a little. Are we?”

Putata paused to think, which he didn't often do. “No,” he decided. “They're the ones who threw me into the labyrinth in the first place. I don't think they want me back.” He laughed. It felt so good to laugh genuinely. “Let's head down river.”

 

They only managed a little distance. Both were exhausted. Mekeke also stopped at every new thing he saw and touched it, both with his human hands and spider's legs. Putata, impatient as always, had to keep prying him away. He kept thinking someone had seen them and was pursuing them at that very moment.

No one could possibly know they'd escaped, though. Putata still couldn't believe it. He had to keep pinching himself. Just a few hours ago, he'd thought that he was going to die in the labyrinth. And if he was worried he was dreaming, Mekeke was completely bowled away. Every new thing he found seemed to add to his amazement.

The village was still within sight when the sun set. Mekeke removed the blindfold and tested his sight. He blinked a lot at first, until it was just dark enough for him to handle. They were sitting underneath one of the willows. It was the only shelter they had.

“Where are we going?” Mekeke asked.

“I'm not sure. Wherever we can, I guess. I'm magic, you're...you. I can't see a lot of places accepting us, to be honest.”

“I understand. You know, just being here is amazing. I never thought I would see any of this.” He ran a hand along the ground, wondering at the feel of the grass. “It's all so empty,” he muttered. “So many wide spaces. It's...it's scary.”

Putata, a claustrophobic, had never thought of wide open spaces as being frightening before, but he guessed that for Mekeke, who had grown up with walls all around him, it was terrifying. Suddenly, the place that had kept him secure was gone. The world he knew was far behind him.

“Mekeke,” Putata began, but then stopped. His friend was staring across the water, tear tracks shining on his cheeks, cutting trails through the layers of dust that had accumulated over the years. Putata knew that he should be doing something, comforting him somehow, but he was lost. And to even pat Mekeke on the back was to place his hand in the center of those spider legs. It shamed him that he was repulsed by them.

They sat together on the bank, saying nothing as the moon climbed the night sky.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update and short chapter. School and Camp NaNoWriMo got in the way. I won't give up on this story, I promise. I can't guarantee speedy updates because of finals, but there will be updates.

Putata dreamed of paints. His mind circled around the last painting he had made before his imprisonment. In the dream, he was sweeping the brush over the canvas, but it did nothing. He used blues and greens and reds that practically hurt his eyes, but once they touched the canvas they faded away. He didn't even know what he was trying to paint. Eventually, frustrated, he tossed everything at the easel and woke up.

When his eyes opened, his first thought was that he'd walked from one dream into another. The last place he'd woken in was Mekeke's den. He was half expecting to find himself in the dark once more, buried beneath the heaps of rags.

But there was cool grass and a gentle breeze through the branches of the willow. He sat up. About a foot away, Mekeke was slightly curled on his side, back to Putata. The spider's legs had folded up with the rest of his limbs. He seemed to be asleep.

Carefully, so he wouldn't wake his companion, Putata stood and left the cover of the tree. The light on the river was dazzling. Putata winced. He could stand more than Mekeke, but after the darkness, things had changed. He waited for his eyes to adjust, then looked again.

They hadn't come far, but the river had widened significantly. There was another village on the opposite bank, smaller than the one they'd come from. Putata knew they wouldn't go there even if they could reach it. Mekeke wouldn't be accepted anywhere. Putata could hide what he was; Mekeke didn't have that luxury.

Putata stepped back into the shade. Mekeke was stirring. “Is it morning?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Mekeke sat up, running his fingers through his hair. His good eye squeezed shut as he yawned. “More walking today?” he asked.

“Afraid so.”

“We need to decide where we're going. We can't wander forever.”

“It's only the second day,” Putata said, although Mekeke had a point. Running aimlessly wouldn't solve anything. They needed to make a decision. “Maybe we should find the road.”

“Road?”

“A path, but where carts and horses can travel.”

“And carts and horses are...?”

Putata kept forgetting just how little Mekeke knew about the world above. “I'll show you if we find it. Right now, we should eat something. I'm starving.”

“Me too,” Mekeke admitted. “Are there fish in the river?”

“Probably, but you won't be able to catch them without a line.”

Mekeke clicked his tongue and stood up. The spider legs stretched and shivered. “I've been catching fish without a line for years.”

“We're cooking them this time!” Putata called after him.

 

They managed to get a smudgy little fire going for breakfast, though Mekeke wasn't used to eating things that were cooked. Putata gave him the pieces that were the least done. He was glad to finally have something warm and not slippery. It would have been better with salt, but they were miles from any spices.

Putata led them further inland. He reasoned that there was probably a road nearby. Lots of roads followed rivers. But soon it was midday and they found nothing. Mekeke was clearly uncomfortably. After the frigid temperatures of the labyrinth, he was more sensitive to the heat.

“Maybe we should stop for a bit,” Putata said. “You don't look so good.”

Mekeke nodded. They found another tree with enough shade and settled underneath it. Putata realized there was a blister on his heel. This adventure to find the road wasn't working out very well. He still had no idea where they were going and now that they were leaving the river, food would be harder to find.

If they came across a farm, they could steal. Putata had no qualms about stealing. He'd done it to survive when he was first exiled from his parent's home. He was sure he could do it again.

Mekeke was lying down, taking measured breaths. Putata leaned over. The other man's face was pink from exertion and sunburn. Putata placed the back of his hand against Mekeke's cheek. Mekeke jolted up and away with a gasp.

“Whoa. Sorry,” Putata said. “I was just...”

“Sorry,” Mekeke mumbled.

“I wanted to know if you were okay. This heat probably isn't good for you.”

Mekeke tore up fistfuls of grass. “I can manage.”

“You can't pass out on me. It's not like we're on a strict schedule. We have time to rest.” _And I don't even know where we're going._ “Lie back down.”

Mekeke sighed and did as he was told. He had to curl his spider legs in to lie comfortably on his side. Putata tried not to look at them. He was still mentally kicking himself for focusing on them like he did.

They stayed under the tree until the sun began to set. Mekeke grew antsy, so they had to keep going. After an hour in the twilight, Putata spotted a leaning fence in the distance. Fences were a good sign. Fences meant farms and livestock. And barns.

Putata jumped it without hesitation. Mekeke didn't have trouble getting over it either. He'd removed his blindfold in the fading light and his golden eye seemed to glow.

“Where is this?” he asked.

“There should be a shelter around here. It's commonly used for animals, but we're going to sleep in it tonight. It's called a 'barn.'”

Mekeke looked puzzled. “It doesn't sound like a very nice place to stay.”

“Beats not having a roof over our heads. Come on.”

 

The barn in question was empty, but still smelled of cows and hay. Putata thought it was best if they slept in the loft.

Mekeke looked around. “I didn't know what to expect,” he admitted.

Putata squinted. His night vision hadn't stayed long, not after the bright sunlight. He half felt his way to the ladder and climbed it slowly. Mekeke followed, his footsteps on the rungs near soundless. Putata pushed around some of the hay into a pillow. From his position in the corner, he watched Mekeke's shadow rustle about as he formed a nest.

“Is it really safe to stay here?” Mekeke asked as he settled down.

“Yes. I used to do this all the time.”

“When?” Putata wasn't in the mood for telling the whole story. “Just... a long time ago.” He closed his eyes.“We'll be gone before anyone knows we're here.”

“Putata?”

“Hm?” He was desperate for sleep but unwilling to snap at Mekeke.

“Are you afraid?”

The artist's eyes snapped open. “N-no.”

“I'm afraid. I'm worried that they'll find us and put us back down there.”

“They don't even know we're gone. They don't know we exist. We're going to be alright.” Putata sat up. Mekeke was a dark curl against the pale straw, his spider limbs tucked into him. “There's nothing to be afraid of.”

Mekeke might have nodded. Putata couldn't quite tell. He put his cheek back to the straw pillow. As his eyes drifted closed again, he thought he heard Mekeke murmur, “You're a poor liar.”

 

His paintings were all of snakes. There was a whole gallery full. Putata stood at one, gaping at all the frames and all the shining scales. His feet moved without his input. As he traveled down the hall, the snakes came to life, twisting out of their frames. They slithered toward him, wrapping their muscley bodies around his arms and legs, binding themselves to him. He couldn't shout for help, couldn't even struggle. One wrapped itself around his throat and squeezed...

There was a hand clutching his neck. Putata's mouth opened to yell, but another hand covered his mouth.

“Thought you could sneak in here, did you?” growled the shadowy figure above him. “Get up.”

Putata didn't hesitate to do as he said. Where was Mekeke? Putata looked around frantically. If he'd been discovered...

“Your friend's outside,” the figure said. “You'll see him soon.”

The barn doors were wide open. Mekeke was lying on the ground outside, surrounded by three men, each carrying a kind of make shift weapon. Putata's heart went cold. “Meke -” he began, but was cut short by a shove from his escort.

“What do we do with them?” one man asked. He was holding a shovel. Putata hoped that the wetness he saw on its edge was from something else, that they hadn't struck Mekeke with it.

“Take them to the town,” Putata's escort said. “They'll figure out something.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter after a wait. Hopefully everyone's stills sticking with me.

They put Mekeke in a cage. Putata was shoved along on the edges of their clubs and sticks. He twisted to watch them close and lock the door. Mekeke still hadn't regained consciousness. At least he wasn't dead. They wouldn't have put him in there if he wasn't a danger to them anymore.

Not that Mekeke had ever been a danger to anyone. Putata had known him for only a few days, but even he could tell that Mekeke was the gentlest monster that ever lived. A cage wasn't necessary. He saw red and tried to drag himself away from the impromptu guard.

“Mekeke!” he yelled. They hit him. _Bunch of bullies._ Blinking away stars, Putata straightened. He wasn't going to let them win. He wouldn't lose his freedom a second time, not when he'd just got it. He opened his mouth to scream again; it might wake Mekeke up.

Before he could make a sound, however, one of the men gagged him with a piece of dirty fabric. He choked on the foul taste. Then they shoved his head down and kept pushing him along.

 

This cell was worse than the last, if such a thing was possible. The floor was grimy, covered in old straw. They had the decency to remove the gag, at least. The second they let go of him, he burst forward, prepared to fight his way out. But the door slammed shut and his fists made contact with the wood.

Putata hissed and shook out his hands. He tried pressing against the door. It was old, but it held fast. He cursed under his breath. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all. How could the gods be so cruel? They had been _free_. And then Putata had lost it for them both.

He gave up on the door and went to crouch in the corner of the cell. _What are they going to do to him?_ Putata combed his fingers through his hair. He was too scared to think.

He didn't know how long he sat hunched like that in the cell. He couldn't sleep a wink. There was one window, too small to crawl through and barred, all the way at the top of the wall. A bit of daylight edged its way through.

Another window opened, one in the door, and a hunk of bread fell through. Putata waited. Nothing else happened. The door snapped shut.

He ate the bread. It was stale. He hadn't expected anything else. Were they feeding Mekeke? Or were they starving him? If they thought he was dangerous enough to put in a cage, that was a stupid move. What sort of town even had a cage like that?

He spent the rest of the day searching for weaknesses in the cell. He hoped, foolishly, that a previous inmate might have left a weapon in the straw. No such luck. Putata was starting to miss his old bone knife. The walls were damp and impenetrable. It was old, but it had held for a long time and would continue to hold.

His hands were black with grime from the walls and the floor. He wiped them on his shirt. They probably never hosed this cell off. Gods forbid he'd caught a few fleas from this ordeal. Putata wasn't a particularly wrathful person, but there were some things that really pushed his buttons, fleas being one of them.

He looked down at his shirt. He was desperate for something else to wear. It was dotted with various mud stains, stiff with dirt from the labyrinth, pitted with sweat and now streaked from his dirty fingers. Putata would kill for a bath.

Actually, he'd kill for a piece of chalk. If he could draw, he could use his magic to escape. There was plenty of available wall space. He was tempted to ask. Then, of course, they'd wonder what he wanted it for. _To mark down the hours until I die._

Alright, that was a little morbid, but it wasn't as if he really wanted to do it. It would only make his time here go by slower. And he would always be looking at how much time he wasted, unable to save Mekeke.

Someone was screaming. Putata dropped his shirt and threw himself at the door. There was no doubt in his mind who was crying. “Mekeke!” he shouted, jamming his shoulder against the door until it bruised. “Mekeke!”

“Shut up in there!” a harsh voice roared back.

Putata beat his fists against the door. “Stop it!” he yelled. “Stop it!”

They weren't listening to him; Mekeke was still screaming, howling at the top of his lungs, sobbing. Putata kept flinging his full weight – which wasn't much – at the door. _This is my fault. This is my fault. This never would have happened if I didn't bring him with me._

He ran out of energy. Putata stepped back, rubbing his battered shoulder. There had to be something he could do. If he couldn't beat his way out, he'd find something else. There was always another path, a backdoor most people didn't think of, options that weren't obviously present.

Putata's mind worked like a nest of information, all tangled together. Other people thought like archives, or like webs. He noticed things and made connections. He wasn't oblivious. But he had to wade through everything he'd seen, separating the important from the useless.

He rubbed his forehead with the heels of his hands, then made a face. There was still a greasy layer on his palms. Putata scrubbed them against a clean space on his trousers. They left long, black marks, like a brush of charcoal...

Though the cell remained dark, Putata felt a light flicker on inside him. There was always another path, another way. He grinned to himself, almost started laughing. It was so obvious now.

They didn't know he was magic.

 

When the door opened for his bread to be passed in, Putata stuck his hand through it and grabbed the guard's wrist. The guard dropped the bread and tried to pull back, but Putata dug his nails in.

“Tell me what they've done with him,” he said.

“Let go of me!”

“Tell me!” Putata pressed harder. The guard struggled more. “Have they killed him? Have you brutes killed him?” His nails weren't sharp enough to draw blood, but he was trying.

“He's still alive, alright! Now let go!”

Putata obliged. The door fell closed. He sighed with relief. No matter what happened, he would get Mekeke out of that cage.

The screams had died off eventually, which hadn't comforted Putata at all. He hoped to find Mekeke in one piece. They could have done any number of horrible things to him. Putata didn't want to think about that. He had to concentrate on escaping.

The very first thing Putata had done was draw a skeleton key into the door. Using his magic felt good, like waking up from a long sleep. His fingers buzzed slightly when he touched the thing he'd created, just as real as if a locksmith had forged it.

There was no lock on this side of the door, but it would work on the cage. Putata kept the key tucked in his palm. He would have to figure out a different way to get out.

He had never drawn himself a weapon before. Well, at least nothing like a sword or knife. He would need one, he thought, if he wanted to get past the guards and to the cage.

The grime worked surprisingly well as a medium. It made strong lines, easy to see, even in darkness. It was no substitute for charcoal or paint – oh, paint – but it was enough. The key proved that it worked.

What to draw next? Now was a terrible time for an art block. He had to be clever. Running and screaming at the guards wasn't going to help. He'd seen their size; they could snap him like a toothpick. What he needed was something that would keep them incapacitated or occupied while he freed Mekeke. So, what was it?

His first instinct was to let it pour out of him – every image he'd saved and itched to draw since he was thrown into the darkness. Putata ran his fingers along the door, making patterns out the whorls in the wood. Drawing with his fingers felt so clumsy compared to a brush. It reminded him of childhood, of dipping his hands into the paint and smearing them across pieces of paper. Earlier, in the labyrinth, faced with the impossibility of escape, he had drawn flowers in the sand with his index finger, only because there was nothing else.

Flowers. He remembered the way the ghost girl had vanished, leaving behind only withered petals. He remembered his promise to bring something to life for Mekeke, to create something that wasn't dead or silent or...

He sprang to his feet. The magic pulsed through him like lightning, igniting him all the way to his bones. The situation was remarkably clear.

“I promised,” he whispered as he raised his hand. “I promised to bring something to life for you.”

 

Later, no one would be able to say exactly how the jail filled itself with poppies, how they seemed to grow from every crack in the walls and floor. They wouldn't be able to explain, either, how they felt so sleepy when the flowers bloomed, how nice it felt to lay down their tired bones and close their eyes.

Putata was not an expert on flowers, but he knew why his nurse had put fresh poppies on his windowsill every night. “For sweet dreams,” she would say. Then, looking pointedly at him, “And deep sleep.” Of course, a few in a pot wasn't going to do anything. An entire, sudden field of them – bolstered with magic – was different.

He drew a lock on his side of the door and used the key. It worked perfectly. He hoped it would do well on a lock he hadn't drawn himself. Putata waded through sleeping guards and red flowers out of the jail, the key clutched in his sweaty hand. He counted himself lucky that his own magic didn't work against him, otherwise he would be out like a light.

This village was larger than the previous one he'd been arrested in. It was dark, but not quite night. The sky was a deep, twilit blue. Putata stored the color away for later. The cage, as he remembered it, was near the center of town. It might have been used for bears once.

That thought made him sick. _What is it with humans and their need to lock things in cages? Or throw them in holes?_ Putata started running. If Mekeke was hurt, he had to move fast. They would be slow going once Putata opened the cage.

No one was guarding it. They'd surrounded the place with torches, but otherwise left it alone. They were confident that Mekeke wouldn't escape. _Couldn't_ escape. Putata's blood was ice. _No. No. No. Don't be dead. Please don't be dead._ He was shaking. He was too late. He'd hesitated too long.

Mekeke was lying on the floor of the cage, nothing more than a black lump. There were scabs on his fingers. Putata could picture him trying to get free, ramming the bars. They had hit him or thrown rocks or something. His face was black and purple with bruises. A lump rose in Putata's throat, but he didn't know whether to cry his heart out or burn the entire village to the ground.

But then he noticed the rise and fall of Mekeke's chest. He was alive. Putata grabbed the bars of the cage and tried to fit an arm through. It was stupid, but he had to rouse Mekeke so that they could escape. “Meke? Come on. Wake up.” He was just able to tap the side of Mekeke's face with his fingertips. They left sooty smudges in their wake.

Mekeke opened his eye ever so slightly. “You got out,” he rasped.

“Can you sit up?”

“Maybe. Putata...”

The artist glanced over his shoulder. He'd thought he heard footsteps. He was apparently mistaken. Any minute now, there could be torches and shovels. And axes. Putata turned back to Mekeke, who was easing himself up. The back of his shirt was stained and wet. And...

“Mekeke,” Putata breathed. “What did they do to you?”

Mekeke glanced at himself, then down at the ground. “They ripped two of my arms off.”

Putata suppressed the urge to gag and said, “Do they...do they grow back?”

“Do your arms grow back after they've been chopped off?” Mekeke shook his head. “I don't know. Just help me get out of here.”

Putata's stomach twisted with shame and revulsion as he searched for the lock on the cage. He didn't know how much time they had. He wanted to get out of the village before sunrise, but the villagers could wake up before that and discover them.

“I'm sorry they did that to you,” Putata said. He ran his hands along the door, feeling for a keyhole. Putata wanted to scream. He was impatient. They didn't have time to sit on their hands and build up an escape over time. This wasn't the labyrinth. Strange how that was less dangerous in comparison to this predicament.

Mekeke startled him by grabbing his hand through the bars. “Change of plans,” he said. “Run.”

Putata laughed. “If you think I'm going to leave you here...”

“You should have dropped me at least ten times by now. In fact, you never should have brought me up here. But I'm up here now. If they catch you, they'll kill you. Just go.”

Putata shook his head. “I'm not going on alone. Either you're coming with me or I don't go at all. There has to be a lock here somewhere. I have a key.”

“There isn't one. I've checked. Want to know why they don't have guards? It's because this cage is perfect. They burned it closed.” Mekeke's eye was tired. His remaining two spider arms twitched morosely. “It's the only place I belong up here, Putata.”

Putata couldn't stop himself. He jammed both arms through a space in the bars and grabbed Mekeke by the front of his shirt and shook him. “You belong with _me_ , you moron. You didn't come out here just to end up in another cage, did you?”

Mekeke's eye expanded, the gold glowing in the low light. It looked as though it hurt to even move his lips, but his mouth opened anyway. “I didn't know you...”

“Cared? Of course I care. You're the only friend I have in the world.” The lump was back, jamming itself at his tonsils. “Please don't give up when we haven't even started.”

Mekeke sat back, his shirt sliding out from between Putata's fingers. He touched his face, gently, then tightened his jaw. “I've been testing for weak spots, but I haven't found one. The only way to open it is to burn it back open.”

“You mean melt the bars?” Putata looked around. “We don't have time for that.”

“Well, we're going to have to have time for it,” Mekeke shot back, dragging himself to his feet, using the cage for support. “Get a torch, put it on the cage and see what happens.”

“But you're...” Putata stopped. _You've had your arms ripped off. You're bleeding. You're shaking._ He bit back the urge to tell Mekeke he looked like a dead man walking. It would only make him insist Putata leave again.

Instead, Putata did as he asked and yanked a torch out of the ground. “Where did they close it?”

Mekeke pointed. Putata held the flame over it and waited. He already knew that it wasn't hot enough, that it wouldn't be fast enough. He pressed his head to the bars. “Mekeke, we need to go. This is taking too long.”

“Just a little more.”

How long did they have until they were caught? How long until Putata was back in the cell, except this time with his hands bound – or worse, cut off? How long until Mekeke collapsed from his wounds?

“You can take it off now,” Mekeke said.

“It's not melted.”

“Just take it off.” Putata stopped holding the torch up to it. “Now, uh, take a few steps back.” Confused, Putata did as he asked. Mekeke backed up as well, positioning himself at the far corner of the cage. He swayed a little.

“Mekeke, you're not going to -” Putata began.

Mekeke rammed the door, throwing all of weight against it. Putata flinched as it flew open so hard that one of the hinges fell off. The artist watched in stunned silence as his friend stumbled out. Mekeke looked at Putata, panting. Blood dripped from a freshly opened cut on his lip.

“I didn't know you were...uh...” Putata said, tripping over his words. “You're strong,” he finished lamely.

“I had to be,” Mekeke replied. “But right now... I think I'm going to pass out.”

Putata dropped the torch and rushed to support Mekeke. “Not yet. Okay? We need to get out of here first. Come on.” _And everyone probably heard the door coming off the cage._

Together, they limped toward the outskirts of the village. Putata had his hand on Mekeke's back. He felt the blood and the stiffness of the fabric from where it had dried.

“Are they coming for us?” Mekeke gasped.

“No, not yet,” Putata said, glancing behind them. There were a couple of lights glowing in people's windows, but there was no angry mob just yet. “Listen, this was my fault, so we're going to avoid ordinary people for now.”

Mekeke nodded. “They don't seem to like us very much.” He hazarded a smile. His teeth were bloody. Putata looked away. He felt the overwhelming urge to laugh until he was hoarse, to hysterically cackle at the sky.

A cry of alarm burst out. They were gathering now, looking at the ruined cage. Putata tried to get Mekeke to limp along faster. He was tired. They had no idea where they were going.

And then their feet met air where there should have been ground and they plummeted, too surprised to scream.


	10. Chapter 10

“Putata.”

He was being shaken. His temple throbbed. It must have hit something as they fell. They fell...

He sat up, only to be greeted by a host of sharp pains from both his head and sides.

“Careful. You knocked yourself out when we tripped.” Mekeke was leaning against an earth wall, forcing himself to sit up. Their legs were tangled together, over and under like a woven mat. Putata's ankle felt especially sore. It had probably twisted on the way down.

“What...? Where are we?” Putata asked. “We were running...”

“There was a hole in the ground. We stepped in it and now we're here at the bottom,” Mekeke explained. He sounded so tired. “I thought you'd broken your neck.”

“Are you okay?”

“I hit some sharp edges but nothing's broken. How about you?”

Putata tried to reach his ankle, but found that their space was a lot smaller than he'd expected. He couldn't reach. “I think I hurt my left ankle,” he said. “Can you feel it for me? Tell me if it's broken.”

“Not with my hands but...”

Putata stiffened. He didn't want to feel the spider's legs, not in the dark. _Gods, is this another labyrinth, but with the added terror of claustrophobia?_

“Are you scared?” Mekeke asked. His face was most in shadow. It was still night above them. At least Putata hadn't been out for too long.

“No,” Putata lied. “If we're down here, they can't find us, unless they start sticking their pitchforks in the ground. We'll wait until it's safe, then we can climb out and run for it.”

“You're a real optimist,” Mekeke said.

“Where did you learn that word?”

“You're not the first person to talk to me. You're the first to live.”

Putata was having an intense case of deja vu. He could only hear Mekeke's voice, throwing him back to a few days ago – had it really only been a few days? - when the labyrinth was all the near future had to offer and Putata hadn't known he was a monster. “How's your...uh...?”

“My arms? I try not to think about it, otherwise the pain comes back.”

Putata tried to reach out and touch Mekeke, to offer some comfort, but instead his hand found a spider leg. He gasped and withdrew, mentally kicking himself a second later.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I-”

“Are you afraid of spiders?”

“No, not usually. It's just...”

“You don't have to apologize. You're only human. And I'm not.”

For a while, the only sound in the hole was their combined breathing. Mekeke sounded terrible, taking sharp, shallow gasps. He was struggling. Putata was trying to keep calm. He could feel the walls pressing in on him.

“When will we know it's safe to come out?”

Putata shrugged. “There isn't really a way to check, unless you want to help me look.”

Mekeke shifted. “Maybe if we move around a little, we can get out from under each other. Which ones are your legs?”

“You can't tell?”

“Honestly, it's kind of blurry. Try and shake them a bit. Oh, okay. Those are yours.” Putata felt one of his friend's legs slide out from beneath his. He tried to help by pulling the newly freed leg into himself while Mekeke shuffled around.

“The good news is,” Mekeke said, “this hole isn't deep. We can probably make it out.”

“Back in town,” Putata interrupted. “How did you figure out how to break the door?”

“Well, I thought that since we couldn't melt it off, it might get weak enough for me to break it. And it did.”

“I had no idea you were that strong,” Putata said. “It was impressive.”

Mekeke laughed nervously. “It was just force...”

“But you're smart too. You notice things. If you hadn't been in the labyrinth, you could have been... I don't know. Something amazing, I just know it.”

“Being strong isn't much of a skill,” he argued. “Anyone can do it with enough practice.”

“Mekeke. Have you seen me?” Putata laughed. “I'm a twig. I couldn't knock down a cage door unless it was made of wet paper.” He was pleased to hear an answering burst of laughter from Mekeke. Putata, feeling a bit more daring, said, “Let me see your arm.”

“You can see my arm anytime you want.”

“Give me your arm,” he amended.

Mekeke obliged. Putata let his hand rest on Mekeke's bicep. He could feel its strength, even when the muscles were relaxed. The poor monster had lost his tattered coat and Putata's palm was in direct contact with his skin. There was a strange kind of thrill in this. He pressed his fingers against Mekeke's arm and felt it go taut.

“See,” Putata said, releasing him. “You're built differently.” _In more ways than one, really._

“I think I can move now,” Mekeke said. “It's not too far to the surface. No swimming this time.” He let out a sigh of exaggerated relief.

“It wasn't that bad.”

“We nearly drowned.”

“I'll teach you to swim if you want.”

“When am I ever going to use it?”

“A daring escape,” Putata suggested. “Or for fun. My mother used to take me to the beach...” He trailed off. Now that was a long time ago. He'd nearly forgotten that his family had any happy memories.

“What's a beach?” Mekeke asked.

Putata reached back into his mind for ways to explain. “Well, do you know what an ocean is?”

“I might have heard of one.”

“It's a body of water, like the lake. Except it's so big you can't see the other side. And so deep that monsters the size of mountains can live below the surface. The bank of that is usually called a beach. People go there to fish and swim. It's fun.”

“What kind of monsters?” Mekeke asked as he shuffled around their confined space. He hit a shaft of moonlight. The remaining spider limbs twitched. Putata turned his eyes to the ground.

“All kinds,” he said. No one had said anything about specific monsters. He'd never heard of anything like Mekeke.

“I think I can reach. I'll climb up first and pull you out. Okay?”

Putata didn't want to stay in the hole another second. Talking to Mekeke had distracted him for a while, but now he could feel the wall pressing at his back. The slant of moonlight coming in reminded him all too vividly of the crack of light beneath the closet door. “Be quick,” he said.

Mekeke managed to crawl out, his legs dangling for a moment in front of Putata, jerking and swinging as he pulled himself from the tiny pit. Putata found that without Mekeke, he could breathe easier. He moved toward the center and looked up. Mekeke looked back at him.

“Here,” he said, extending a hand.

Putata grasped it tightly. He had to brace his feet against the side of the hole to climb. His free hand scrabbled at the dirt, eventually grabbing some long grass. Mekeke's arm hardly trembled as Putata dragged himself out.

He collapsed in the field, relieved to be free from the dark again. Putata lay on his back, staring at the sky. It glittered with thousands of stars. It felt like years since he'd last seen them.

“No one is coming after us,” Mekeke said. “I think they gave up.”

“We'd better move on just in case.” Putata closed his eyes. He wanted to give in to fatigue. The ground was soft here; the air was warm. He felt Mekeke lie down next to him, letting out a long breath as he did so. Putata wanted – so very badly – to roll over and curl himself around Mekeke's arm, just to have something solid to cling to.

“How did you escape?” he asked.

Putata laughed. “Magic.”

“Will you show me some of it? Like you promised?”

Putata's eyes reopened. He shifted his gaze to Mekeke, who was staring into the night sky, as though looking for something. “I will. Soon. Not here.”

“What are the lights in the sky?”

“Stars.” In the grass, lightning bugs winked on and off.

“They look like the crystals,” Mekeke murmured. “Do you know how many there are?”

Putata shrugged. “It's impossible to count.”

They stayed like that for a little while, until Putata got restless and sprang up. “We need to keep moving,” he said, gently plucking at the edge of Mekeke's shirt. “And we need to see your wounds.”

 

Mekeke managed to reach the shelter of some trees before he lost energy and fell, panting. Putata tried to lift him, but he was dead weight now. The artist gave up trying to pull him farther and pulled up Mekeke's shirt to see his injuries.

Some kind soul – at least Putata hoped they were trying to be kind – had cauterized the wounds. Not well. They were the lower two. The blood had already congealed around them and was starting to scab over. No doubt it hurt, more than anything Putata could wrap his head around. Mekeke would survive. Just barely.

Putata's magic fluttered within him. The temptation to turn the town to ashes was strong. He could make the whispered rumors of his sorcery true. He could...

He pressed a fist to his forehead. Killing everyone wasn't going to solve anything. It wouldn't bring back Mekeke's arms. It wouldn't make him stop hurting. Putata had to remember these things. His emotions could get away from him sometimes. He felt things in extremes.

“Mekeke?” he said softly, as if speaking to a wild animal or a frightened child. He cleared his throat and changed his tone. “We're going to stay here for now, but as soon as it's morning, I'm taking you to a stream to clean these. Understand?”

Mekeke nodded and slumped to the ground. Putata followed suit. Mekeke was paler than usual, his hands tearing at the grass. Putata wasn't good with sick people, he realized. He had no idea how to lessen Mekeke's suffering.

Eventually, he drifted off into fitful sleep, waking up from time to time to see Mekeke rolling back and forth beside him. Putata tried to hold him down at one point, but gave up when the other man threw him off.

_I brought him here. I did this._

 

It took everything in Putata's power to get Mekeke standing in the morning. The sun had just started to rise, which Putata didn't qualify as a real “morning” but he couldn't sleep any longer. Not with Mekeke tossing and turning next to him.

“I'm tired, Putata,” Mekeke groaned.

“I know.” He put an arm around Mekeke's middle, between the wounds and the remaining spider legs. “I'm taking you somewhere that will make you feel better.”

It was slow going. Neither of them had slept well and Mekeke seemed to bite back screams at every movement. Last night's adrenaline had worn off. Putata kept his eye on the goal: fresh water. He could wash the dirt out of his mouth. Mekeke would improve once his wounds were cleaned. They just had to keep going.

Putata talked to fill the silence. He could always find something to talk about. His mother used to scold him for endlessly chattering on and on without a thought to whomever was listening. But he had to keep Mekeke's head above the water.

“So, on the bright side, we're going to live through this. I thought we were dead back there, but it looks like we're in the clear.” He looked at Mekeke to see if he'd reacted in any way. No. “I used to hear stories about escaping from angry mobs. Every kid who figures out he has magical powers hears about them. I haven't had to run away like this before. I wasn't put in prison until...”

He paused for a moment. He thought he'd heard running water. Putata gave Mekeke's back as gentle a pat as he thought could be managed and smiled. “See? We're close. I think it's this way.”

There was, indeed, a stream. Putata had never seen one so beautiful before. Sandy bottom, smooth pebbles, crystal clear water. He didn't wait before plunging straight in. The water reached his hips at its deepest.

Putata propped Mekeke up against the bank. “Stay here. You can sleep now.”

Mekeke covered his eyes with an arm. The light was bothering him. His blindfold had been lost. Putata thought of making him another one, but their clothes were already in shreds. Putata's shirt was not only torn, but dirtier than ever. He stripped out of the old prison clothes and threw them onto the bank.

It felt good to immerse himself in the water. The spots where the sun touched the surface were warm. Putata lingered there for a while, scrubbing off all the dirt he'd accumulated.

Once his hands were free of grime, Putata shook Mekeke's leg. “Hey. Are you conscious enough to get in?” He hoped he sounded more playful than he felt. “It'll hurt more the longer we wait.”

Mekeke sat up with a groan of pain. Putata helped him get his shirt off. It seemed like it hurt to even move his arms. Mekeke wouldn't even stand. He had to wriggle down the bank into the water.

“It's warm,” he said, surprised.

Putata nodded. “Alright, time to clean up.”

Mekeke's wounds were looking much better than they had last night. Almost freakishly better. Putata frowned. As he began washing away some of the dried blood and grit, he realized that they had started healing on their own. Mekeke flinched every time Putata's hands brushed against them. “Sorry, sorry,” he repeated every time it happened. He tried to be gentle.

“Putata, I'm tired.”

“You can go back to sleep once we're done. They aren't too bad. Actually, they're looking really good considering you got your arms ripped off.”

“Really?” Mekeke sounded just as startled as Putata. “They hurt.”

“Yeah, but they're scabbing and... not killing you. Is this part of being a whatever you are?”

Mekeke shrugged. “I don't know. I'm the only one.”

 

When they finished in the stream, Putata tried drawing them some new clothes in the mud. It worked, although Putata didn't think it was his best. They all came away with a brown tint. Even the black he'd visualized for Mekeke looked sort of muddy.

“Beggars can't be choosers,” Putata said with a shrug.

He tried making some bandages too (also pretty brown) but Mekeke kept shaking his head.

“They'll keep your wounds covered,” Putata explained. “Then we won't have to clean them every five seconds. All we have to do is change the bandages.” He smiled reassuringly at Mekeke. “I know they're really sensitive right now, but this will make it better.”

Mekeke just shook his head again. He seemed too tired for words. Eventually, Putata realized that Mekeke was too tired to do anything, let alone fight him off, so he managed to wrap Mekeke's torso. Putata did it slowly. He didn't usually bandage people; he wasn't a doctor. Were there any side effects of incorrect bandaging?

But in the end, Mekeke looked better for it. He was finally able to relax and sleep. Putata, also feeling a bit exhausted, lay down on a soft, dry spot under one of the trees and closed his eyes. It was nice day. There was no sound, save for the rush of the stream, the rustling leaves and Mekeke's breathing.

_Let's just hope we don't get another rude awakening._ The artist rolled onto his side and waited for the warmth of the sun to lull him asleep.

 

There are different kinds of nightmares, an almost infinite amount. Putata had, at some point in his life, gone through all of them: the kind where something is coming for you and you can't move, the kind where you're falling, the kind where you're blind...

In this one, he was back in the pitch dark of the labyrinth, clutching a fading crystal. Just beyond the dimming circle of light, he could hear the scratching of monsters. They were coming to eat him. There was nowhere to run.

“Mekeke?” he whispered. Something crawled across his back. He tried to swat it away, only to contact nothing. They were slithering across his shoes now, climbing up his legs. He was frozen to the spot.

“You can't save him.” The voice was familiar. The ghost girl from the labyrinth was hanging back in the shadows, flickering faintly. Putata smelled flowers. Dried husks of petals gathered at her feet. She looked like she might start crying. “No one can save him.”

 

“Putata? Are you awake?”

Putata's eyes opened slowly. For a second, he'd forgotten where he'd gone to sleep, but now that he saw the grass and the roots of the tree... That was a relief. He'd been having a nightmare, though he couldn't remember what it was about. He sat up.

The day had passed into evening. Putata ran his fingers through his hair. His mouth tasted stale. “Wow. We must have been tired,” he mumbled.

“Should we move on?” Mekeke asked.

“Yeah. Let's go.” Putata stood up. There was something different. _Well, we went to sleep during the day and now the sun's setting._ That wasn't it. It was something in the air. Putata yawned. He'd figure it out later. One day, he'd snap his fingers and it would come to him like that. For now he would have to let it slide.

“Do you smell that?” Mekeke asked.

“What? It's not your back is it? They didn't look infected when I checked, although I'm not a doctor so...”

Mekeke shook his head. “No, it's sweet. Like the flowers by the road.”

“Then it's flowers.” Putata shrugged. “Don't scare me like that.”

Yes, that was it. The air smelled like wildflowers.


End file.
